


Me and the Devil, walking side by side

by Minty_Moon



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Denial of Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Panic Attacks, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27490807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minty_Moon/pseuds/Minty_Moon
Summary: It's the anniversary of his parents death and Bruce isn't taking it well. One thing leads to another and he finds himself in a situation where he struggles to control his emotions.
Relationships: Batman/Joker, Bruce Wayne/Joker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 124





	Me and the Devil, walking side by side

**Author's Note:**

> I have another chapter of Captain American Take Care of Peter in the works at the moment. I got caught up in school and with COVID but! It will be coming soon. Until then, enjoy this fic I wrote in two hours.

The blade of a knife cut through his suit and stuck itself into his shoulders as Joker climbed Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce knocked him off and punched him as he stood back up. “Stop!” He roared. 

“Not till I break you!” Joker roared right back with a sickening laugh. 

Joker threw a punch and Bruce threw one back. He knocked Bruce to the ground with a well timed kick to the chest. He climbed on top of him and poised his knife to stab Bruce in the other shoulder. He spat the copper tasting blood on Joker’s face, causing him to miss his mark and cut a stripe from his cheek through his cowl. It opened the skin on his neck, but not deep enough to draw blood. Joker stood up in shock and whipped the blood from his face and stared at his blood stained gloves in disbelief for a moment. 

“Oh ho ho! There’s the beast in you!” Joker did a small spin as Bruce stood back up. “Come on now, let’s play dirty!” 

Bruce reached for Joker’s wrist and yanked it. The lengthy man yelped and was pulled toward Bruce. “Shut up.” He growled before taking Joker’s knife and twisting his wrist painfully but not enough to break it. 

Joker reached his other hand up and scratched, hard enough that his gloves ripped at the fingertips from the friction. Bruce groaned and tossed him to the side. Joker pulled his bloody gloves off and tossed them to the side, revealing black nails and wrist already darkening from Bruce’s grip. 

Joker lifted his wrist and chuckled, “Or maybe you’ll break me!” 

They had been fighting beneath a bridge. Fire from burning cars raged in various places around them, discarded newspapers starting to get bloody, knocked out goons out of sight but not too far. He could feel the wind whip through the part of his cowl that had been ripped. The rip wasn’t large enough to reveal his identity or fall off, thankfully. Bruce tightened his fist. He wanted to make him shut up, just to shut his mouth once and for all. But he _couldn’t_ because then he was no better than him. So he resorted to the next best thing, beating him till he was out cold. 

So he did that very thing. He ran forward with a yell and landed a punch on Joker's face, feeling his nose crack beneath his fist. It was such a wonderful, sick feeling. Joker’s laughter was shrill, almost a scream. “Fucking brute!” 

He reached in his pockets and pulled out two sharp blades, one painted to have Joker’s face on it and the other painted with his face on it. Bruce knocked him to the ground but before he could pin him, Joker sliced an x shape on his chest. Bruce yelled as hot, white pain flared in his chest. His suit had already been weakened by earlier criminals, Joker’s goons, and Joker’s explosions. The more the knives cut through the armor, the deeper Joker pushed the knives. They tore through the suit, then the under clothing, and then his skin. His laughter got louder and louder until it could hardly be considered laughter anymore, it was just _screaming_. 

Bruce felt panic begin to build in his body and his head shot forward and he bit down as hard as he could on Joker’s shoulder. Joker yelled and dropped the knives. Bruce ripped them from his suit with a growl and ignored the slick blood dripping down the inside of his suit. 

He kicked Joker down and let his rage take over, kicking him and reaching down to pull him up and punch him and then drop him heavily on the ground. Bruce picked him up and dropped him heavily on some of the broken glass laying nearby. Joker hadn’t stopped laughing. “Is that all you’ve got Batsy? Come on baby, _do better_!” 

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ Bruce grabbed the knife and went to stab Joker when he stopped and dropped the knife in disgust. “No?” Joker raised a green, bloodied, and bruised eyebrow at him. “My turn then!” 

He kicked Bruce’s legs from out from underneath him and climbed on top. Pressing all his weight down and stabbing blindly. The knife had become very bloody and the paint had begun to chip off, some on the ground and in Bruce’s wounds so Joker threw it to the side. Then he loomed his face over Bruce’s and spit the blood pooling in his mouth on Bruce’s face. 

Bruce reached his arm up and yanked it down across his shoulder across his stomach. The blades on his gauntlets ripped through Joker. Joker’s voice went from a yell of pain to laughter. “Shut your psychotic mouth.” 

Joker’s head lolled to the side, “Make me.” Before erupting into giggles. Bruce launched forward with a groan of pain and headbutted Joker. Joker’s suit was ripped and becoming more bloodied by the second from his fresh wounds. He wiped the blood from his nose and mouth, his once red lips becoming a smear of red lipstick and blood across his face. They were covered in each other’s blood. It was on their faces, their hands, their bodies, it was in Joker’s hair. 

Joker followed his gaze down at his bloodied body. “Is this your way of telling me I look good in red?” 

Joker threw something at Bruce and he jumped back. Expecting a bomb, he ran to the side but nothing blew. Then Joker was on top of him again, using his weight to push him over. Bruce grabbed his arms and tried to knock him off, but it was difficult with his wounds. Instead he found himself being pushed toward the fire. He fell and felt his cowl hit the fiery car. He pulled back quickly and rolled his cowl on the ground. Joker was still clinging to his back and cackling in his ear. He grabbed the ears off his cowl and smashed his head into the concrete. Bruce pushed up and backwards, falling on top of Joker. 

He heard the air get knocked from Joker’s lungs and he started coughing and gasping for breath as he laughed. Bruce reached back and grabbed Joker’s arms and stood, Joker instinctively grabbed on to Bruce’s back and realized his mistake too late when after he stood, he fell back again on Joker. He groaned and Bruce heard a crack come from Joker’s chest. Bruce turned around and went to grab Joker’s wrists but they slipped between his hands. They were slick with blood. Joker grabbed the knives that had been thrown to the side and reached up before Bruce had time to react, slicing both sides of the cowl. Joker yanked and yanked with all his strength until the knives cut the air behind his head. This time it was deep enough to cut the skin and draw blood but it was more of a scratch. 

The cowl sat more like a hat now and Joker grabbed the ears of the cowl. “No!” Bruce screamed but it was too late, Joker had pulled the cowl off. 

“There’s that beautiful face I’ve been dying to see up close! Don’t worry Brucie, I’ve known for quite some time.” Joker tossed the cowl to the side. 

Bruce yelled and punched Joker again, bringing his gauntlets back down across Joker’s body in rage. “I knew it wasn’t just a mask!” Joker said through pain filled laughter. 

“That’s it Bruce! Let out the monster you hide away!” 

Bruce could hear his heartbeat roaring in his ears and dimly heard himself screaming at Joker as he hit him. “Show me _fear_ , Batman!” 

Bruce yelled as loud as he could, feeling the pain in his voice, and stabbed a batarang into his side. Bruce shut his eyes and breathed. He needed to _stop_. He had to. God knows what he would do if he didn’t stop and control himself. He might accidentally break Joker for good. Bruce felt a deep rooted guilt at that statement, why should he care what happens to Joker. God, why did he care? 

He wanted to vomit, no he was going to vomit. He climbed off of Joker and crawled a bit before vomiting. It was bloody and smelled awful, “Jesus Christ.” 

Bruce wiped his mouth and crawled away from it. He started leaning over and then groaned in pain, the adrenaline had worn off and now he just felt like shit. Mythical shit. The smell of blood filled his nose, he had never been bothered by blood but all of the sudden the coppery, salty smell was too much and he found himself vomiting again. He felt like he was coming down from fear gas, had Joker throw some sort of gas at him? 

He scanned his surroundings, nothing gas can shaped around. Then it hit him. He had leaned down and taken a deep breath to calm himself down. He’d fucking inhailed the flower on Joker’s suit and with his body coming down from an intense adrenaline high, he’d fucked himself. He rubbed the bridge of his nose angrily and then fear spiked in his stomach. Bruce’s cowl. Joker had known who he was all this time. Then he looked over at Joker who was still in the same spot but had lifted himself up a bit to look at Bruce. God he was so bloody and battered. Joker’s words came back to him, _“I knew it wasn’t just a mask! That’s it Bruce! Let out the monster you hide away!”_. Bruce had considered Batman a monster to criminals but now looking at the state of Joker and himself, he was struggling to deny it. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Joker snorted. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes at him. Through all of that he still couldn’t get him to shut up. Bruce grabbed his cowl. It had been cut and then yanked, pulling the last straw it was hanging on off. Bruce’s frown deepened, guess Lucius had been right about him desperately needing a suit upgrade. He would take him up on the offer now. 

Bruce flopped to the ground next to Joker in pain. His whole body ached and he felt like all of his guts were dangling out. He canvased himself briefly. Several shoulder stab wounds, x shaped knife cut across his chest, various stab wounds but they weren’t deep enough to cause real damage, twisted ankle, scratches on his cheek and through the knife wound, knife wound on his cheek. But despite the main wounds he remembered, he was sure that when he stripped the suit off, he’d find much more. 

His gaze drifted back at Joker. Joker was looking at his bruised wrist, “I think you broke it, Bats.”

“No...I made sure.” Bruce grunted through gritted teeth, he was beginning to think that maybe he’d also broken a few ribs. 

Joker reached over and slapped his forehead lightly, “Look!” 

He lifted his wrist up, it was twisted weirdly and the bone was visibly pushing against the skin. He’d most definitely broken it. Bruce just hummed. “Bitch.” 

“What?” Bruce looked at him. 

Joker turned his head and looked him in the eyes. “Bitch.” 

Bruce spit in his face again and Joker squeaked. “Weren’t you ever taught not to spit at people?” 

Bruce noticed that Joker didn’t say _‘Didn’t your mommy ever teach you..’_ and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was intentional. Probably not. He looked away and up at the bridge ceiling, willing his brain to shut up. His head was angry tonight, more so than usual. 

Joker’s hand hit his forehead again, “Quit being emo, it’s distracting me.” 

“Distracting you from what?” 

Joker was silent for a moment and so Bruce looked over at him. Joker turned his head and smiled, “Healing.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes at him but let his gaze linger for a moment. Why were they being nice to each other now? Tonight was weird. Bruce’s uncontrollable rage was weird, Bruce not paying attention and breathing in the flower was weird, everything was _weird_. He didn’t like it. 

“You’re doing it again.” He felt Joker’s eyes latch to his face again. 

Bruce looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “I can tell when you are thinking all,” Joker waved his good hand in the air. “Emo-y” 

Bruce rolled his eyes again and turned his head to look at Joker again. “Wanna tell me like you are acting like a scene kid from 2010?” Joker smiled his big, toothy smile at him. 

Bruce sighed, “No.” 

He didn’t want to tell Joker the reason he was so angry and sad and scared and edgy was because tonight was the anniversary of his parents death. How he hated calling it the anniversary, made it sound like a good thing. How he was in his late 20s and still so affected by his parents death. Bruce knew it was a trauma point but that didn’t stop him from blaming himself, from feeling so guilty. From feeling embarrassed. 

Joker hit his face again, “Talk to me.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.”

“Yes.” 

“No!” Bruce snapped.

What was he supposed to say if he wanted to talk anyways? _‘You and your goons were meeting next to Crime Alley where my parents were murdered in front of me and it made me so angry I wanted to slit your throat and almost went through with it?’_ No, he couldn’t talk. Bruce felt tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill out. 

“You can’t bottle up your feelings forever, you know.” Bruce decided he would ignore him. 

“You gotta feel it! Feel it ALLLLLLL.” Joker smiled at him. 

Bruce was still trying to ignore him when Joker started poking him in the cheek. “Come on, I won’t tell a soul. I swear!” 

“Stop it.” Bruce said through gritted teeth, keeping the tears back. His head was beginning to fill with memories of his parents, of that night. He shivered, suddenly feeling the cold of the autumn night. 

“Stop it….” Bruce lost the battle between himself and his mind as his head filled with the memories. 

His mom climbing up his favorite tree to sit with him, getting a story told or read to him before bed by his dad, pretending to understand when he read his dad’s records he’d bring home from work, helping his mom organize her jewelry, singing songs in the car with both of them and Alfred, the Wayne parties spent with them, getting carried to bed when he was too tired after a party to walk, playing in the garden with them both, watching his favorite play at the Monarch Theater. 

Tears were flooding down his cheeks and he brought his hand to his mouth to stop himself from making a noise. But Joker had already noticed. “Bats?” 

Joker turned his head and Bruce saw him pull himself up a bit to look at Bruce. “Bats, what’s wrong?” 

“It’s my fault.” He choked out. 

He could remember the sound of the gun getting cocked so clearly, the way the sound of his mother’s pearls hitting the ground echoed off the alley walls, his father telling the robber he didn’t need to do this, his mother putting him behind her and holding his hand. 

“I should’ve,” Bruce hiccupped. “Should’ve done something.” 

His mother and father screaming, his mother’s cry of fear when his father was shot and then herself, the blood pooling beneath him, his father telling him it was going to be alright, him gripping his mother’s hand as hard as he could, feeling the warmth seep out of it, the robber running past him, him screaming until he couldn’t anymore.

“Bats what-” 

“God, it’s my fault, _it’s my fault_!” Bruce sobbed, starting to hyperventilate. 

The sound of the police sirens and the blue and red lights were like a dream. Nothing felt real. Not Gordon’s hand on his shoulder leading him away, him explaining what happened, Alfred holding him tightly as he sobbed, his inability to sleep for days, the grief. 

“I should’ve died. N-Not them.” 

He’d tried. God he’d tried. Bruce had stolen the old knife in his father’s drawer and he had sat beneath the painting. He’d stared at it for a long time, remembering what it had been like when they were all together. He wanted that back. It wasn’t _fair_. Bruce had dug the blade into his wrist but the second he sliced he panicked. He didn’t want to die, he was scared. He’d looked up at his parents and promised he’d stop crime, he'd avenge them.

Bruce couldn’t breathe. He felt the panic building in him again. Why couldn’t he breathe? Right he was hyperventilating. “Bats you gotta breathe. Bats!” 

Bruce didn’t remember sitting up but he was. So was Joker. Joker grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. Joker’s eyes were really green and they looked confused, maybe a little scared or surprised. It was weird. Everything is weird. 

But he listened, he wasn’t stupid. He took a deep breath and tried to breathe through the panic. “Today is the same day my-my parents-” 

“Oh.” Joker cut him off. 

Bruce closed his eyes, he wanted to run away and hide in the cave but found himself rooted to the ground. Joker grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the wall not too far away. Joker wasn’t really the kind type so Bruce was shocked by the kindness he was showing. But Joker laced his fingers in between Bruce’s and told him to breathe. “You’ve got me, Batsy.” 

“I’ve got you.” Bruce repeated. It was sappy and he sort of regretted saying it out loud. But it made Joker smile, genuinely, kindly. Bruce’s head felt heavy and he was tired. He leaned his head on Joker’s shoulder and sighed. 

He didn’t know how long he had laid there, it felt like a blur until Joker shook him lightly. “You gotta get home, Brucie. It’s almost bat-night.” 

Bruce opened his eyes, blinking past long, dark eyelashes. The black sky was beginning to turn a milky dark blue. Joker placed a kiss on his forehead before standing up and slipping away. “Good morning, Batman.” He called before leaving.

**Author's Note:**

> Song title from Me and the Devil by Gil Scott-Heron


End file.
